


in which Goro Akechi is an actual detective

by Squiped_Mew



Series: In Which Things Are A Little Different [1]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Akechi Goro Has A Palace, Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst, Gen, Kurusu Akira is a little shit, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Rewrite, Some Humor, akechi: 'i dont need friends they dissapoint me', and hes not super happy about it, but oh well!, guess who the black mask is!, its more like 'akechi has feelings and hes not sure what they are', kinda???, mild akechi/akira, more like a rewrite but whatever, thems the breaks pancake boy, this turned a bit angstier than intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squiped_Mew/pseuds/Squiped_Mew
Summary: Goro Akechi lives and dies on his own rules.And one of the unshakable ones is how to always be cool - to always land on your feet when trouble arises.HOWEVER - that fact notwithstanding -“What?” Is the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he looks at the massive dome over his head. ‘What’ is the only thing one can say when they’ve seemingly been teleported into FUCKING. SPACE.Or: Akechi is an actual detective, who's getting increasingly annoyed with the Phantom Thieves and decides to take matters into his own hands.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Niijima Makoto, Akechi Goro & Okumura Haru, Akechi Goro & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Akechi Goro & Shirogane Naoto, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Phantom Thieves of Hearts, Kurusu Akira & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi
Series: In Which Things Are A Little Different [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905544
Comments: 44
Kudos: 553





	1. Part 1 - tank best turtle (and other stuff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write + draw more about this on my tumblr: https://squipedmew.tumblr.com/

People always asked Akechi about his life. About what it was like ‘being a young up-and-coming celebrity, the ace detective of Tokyo!’

He hated it. 

Not the investigating part of his job, oh no, that was all fine and dandy, but the  _ people _ . The  _ press  _ that came with every crime he solved, every intricate crafted coverup coming undone at basic goddamned logic. It wasn’t even that hard. If everyone pulled their heads out of their asses for two seconds, he was fairly sure the average person could probably do what he does. 

Not that he ever says this to the public, of course. He just smiles, and tells everyone what the SIU directors tell him to say, a little script they shoved into his mind. He says he loves his life, and the people as well. 

  
  


He can’t watch himself on TV. The Akechi on TV is the kind of person he would want to punch in the face after one conversation. To invite out to play pool or something just to beat them while not even trying, and rub it in their face afterwards.

And speaking of that exact same scenario - 

“Akechi.” And he (unfortunately) snaps back to reality to see the face of Akira Kurusu, staring at him from across the table. “It’s your turn, quit watching yourself on TV.”

_ If you even bothered to look for more than a second, I was actually staring at that reporter’s hideous shoes and spacing out, _ he wants to say, but, like always, he swallows it down and smiles. “Sorry - my mind slipped away from me.”

Kurusu turns towards the TV, playing in the corner of the game hall. It’s the interview he had on the Phantom Thieves a few weeks ago, coincidentally the first time he had the misfortune of meeting the guy in front of him. “Well, you do look pretty nice up there, at least.” He remarks. 

“You’d be surprised what good lighting and foundation can do.” He snipes back, keeping his tone cordial and level. It then occurs that Kurusu’s statement was a compliment, and then it also occurs to him that maybe his statement about his head being out of his ass was wrong. 

So he shuts his mouth and refrains from staring off for the rest of the game. 

Kurusu says he had a nice time. Akechi agrees. 

Which, again, like pretty much everything about Kurusu, was a lie. 

  
  
  


* * *

Coming home to his empty apartment and crashing down onto the sofa is the best part of his day. It’s quiet, and no one’s around, and if he needs to scream into the itchy cheap pillows? Well, that’s between him, the sofa, and God. Oh, and his pet turtle, Tank. (He had named the thing when he was a middle schooler. Don’t judge him.)

Groaning, he looks up at the tank in which the offending amphibian is sitting, asleep on a rock. “I’m surprised you’re still around kicking.” He says offhandedly. Tank looks up and blinks, veeeeeeery slowly. “Nothing to say to me?”

  
  


Tank, being a turtle, didn’t respond. 

God, he really needed to talk to people more.

  
  


Just then, his phone rang. “Speak of the devil and she shall appear,” Akechi mumbles to himself, rolling over to grab his cellphone.

  
  


Naoto responds the minute he picks up. “Hey Goro.” She says. “Got a minute?”

“Thank fucking god I do.” Naoto was probably the only person keeping him sane at his point. He had no family to speak of, after all, his mother HAD died when he was eight (He couldn’t remember how, but maybe that was for the best) but, thankfully, Naoto had picked him up. Granted, he didn’t have the fondest memories of Inaba, what with both of them being dirt poor and all, at least until she started doing her detective stuff. He first started trying to play detective because Naoto did, but then, grew a liking, as well as a knack for it. He never really got to prove his chops in Inaba though, and eventually he left for Tokyo, which was good, since Naoto was becoming more and more busy by the day. 

  
  


It had been about… eight? Nine years? Since he had left. He had managed to scrape by until he had his big break and left his shitty foster home, a few jobs later, and now he was here. 

It had become acutely clear to him that Inaba wasn’t the problem.

  
  


“You sound not great.” Naoto said, and he hears the sound of creaking, like she’s leaning back on a chair, which, knowing her, she probably was. “Did something happen?”

“The Phantom Thieves.” He mutters, hauling himself off the couch and to the kitchen, where he grabs a package of dry instant ramen, and tears it open. 

“Oh yeah. News of them is starting to reach over here. Hey, is it true that they changed that artist's heart?”

“Apparently so.” Akechi decides it’s too much trouble to boil some water, so he just bites into the square of dry noodles instead. It’s not half bad. “What’s worse, is that everyone seems to think what they’re doing is ‘just’ or whatever.”

“...I’m guessing you don’t?” 

“Would I be complaining if I did?” 

“Fair enough.” There’s shouting in the background, and he hears Naoto yell something indecipherable over her shoulder. 

“Is it Kanji again?”

“Yoskue and Yu are visiting this week.” Naoto says. “And I love Yosuke, but I’m sick of him and Kanji always arguing about stuff.”

“If you don’t like him, just kick him out of your house.” He replies, taking another huge bite of his ramen block and relishing in the crunch.

“I do! And so does Kanji, they just bicker all the time. Over what, I dunno but - Goro?”

“Yeah?”

“...Are you eating your ramen dry again?”

  
  


Akechi hangs up.

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Akechi has a theory. 

It’s a flimsy one, sure. And it’s also stupid to pin all of your problems on the one guy who you really didn’t like. 

But, that fact notwithstanding, he is fairly sure that Akira Kurusu is a member of the Phantom Thieves.

The logic was fairly sound. Kurusu had just transferred to the school Shujin, and only a month after his arrival, the Phantom Thieves made their debut right in that very school. Not to mention, everyone in Kurusu’s little posse was connected to each victim in some way. Kitagawa had his art plagiarized, Makoto, Nijima’s little sister, was investigating Kurusu, as he had overheard Sae shout about over the phone to her boss. And what’s more, she had turned around and joined Kurusu’s group just a week before Kaneshiro plopped his fat ass on the police station’s doorstep. 

A case which Akechi had been trying to solve for MONTHS. And the Phantom Thieves had just up and done it in a matter of DAYS.

The SIU director had just told him to be happy that Kaneshiro and his lackeys weren’t a problem anymore. That didn’t stop Akechi from wanting to uppercut the Phantom Thieves directly to heaven’s front door. 

“You seem jealous.” Naoto says when he brings it up on one of their rare days in which both of them have the day off at the same time, and they meet at a grungy cafe in the middle of nowhere, located directly between Tokyo and Inaba. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Akechi scoffs, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m just upset that they obviously have the power to locate people instantaneously, but aren’t using it for the greater good.” 

“I’d argue they are. Not everyone thinks like you, you know.” Naoto fires back. 

“It seems more like self-gratification in the end.” He replies. 

“I thought you were a detective for the same reason.” Naoto teases. 

“Please. I distinctly remember telling you it was out of spite.” 

“Isn’t everything you do out of spite?” 

That gets a genuine laugh out of Akechi and god, he misses this. Being able to be blunt with people and not caring about what they say or how he looks. He takes a sip of the coffee, and it’s a bit too sweet. 

(Kurusu makes it better)

Akechi chokes on his coffee, and drinks tea for the rest of lunch. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

Was there any definitive proof that Akira Kurusu was a Phantom Thief? Akechi thought to himself. He had a list, but it was nothing more than a list of things that made him suspicious, not things that made him guilty. There was a big difference.

“Hey.” He looks up to see Kursu looking over his shoulder, and he has that stupid trademark smirk on his face that Akechi wants to slap off. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think there is anything?” He replies, stirring the coffee that Kurusu has made for him with a fake silver spoon. 

“Your face screams murder.” Kurusu remarks, leaning to sit on the cafe counter. “Someone say something dumb?”

“Oh, people are always saying dumb things Kurusu.” The barb slips out of his mouth before he registers it, and mentally slaps himself. 

But, to his surprise, Kurusu laughs. “Mood.” He mumbles, and Akechi notices there’s a distinct chip in his front tooth. Small, maybe, but there. 

  
  


He wonders if anyone has any photographs of the Phantom Thieves. 

He wonders if, when one of them smiles, they have a chip in their left front tooth as well. 

  
  
  


“...At any rate,” Akechi says, getting himself back on track. “What I meant to say is that people are being remarkably short sighted online to me as of late.”

“It about the Phantom Thieves?” And Akechi takes a mental note at how carefully controlled his voice is - almost like his voice when he’s getting an interview. 

“Isn’t it always, these days?” Rolling his eyes dramatically, Akechi takes a sip of his coffee. “I mean, really. Who’s to say Medjed wasn’t a setup by the Thieves themselves? No reason to go so ballistic over it.”

“Is that what the fuzz is saying?” His tone is teasing, now. Like there’s a joke Akechi’s not let in on. 

“...It does sound rather preposterous, now that I say it out loud.” File that theory onto the list of ‘embarrassing things he’s said that keep him up at night’.

“Eh, I mean, it’s not too far off, I guess.” Kurusu shrugs, pushing himself off of the counter. 

“Far off from what?” Akechi asks, and there’s a slight moment of tension, in which Kurusu slipped, and they both stare at each other for a minute. 

  
  


“...From what the news told us.” Kurusu says, and the tension in Akechi’s shoulders goes out, because of course Kurusu’s got an excuse, he’s always got one. “That it wasn’t actually Medjed.”

“Right. Pardon me.” Akechi stands up, and adjusts his tie. “Kurusu, it’s been lovely, but I’m afraid my shift starts in-” He checks his watch obviously. “Fifteen minutes. I’d best be going.” That was a lie. He wasn’t on until eight. 

  
  


He’s halfway to the door when Kurusu speaks up. 

  
  
  


“Hey - you don’t have to be so formal, you know.” He says, and Akechi wants to laugh at the irony of that statement. “I’m cool if you call me Akira, you know.”

  
  


And there’s a lump in the back of his throat, out of confusion or anger or something else, he doesn’t know. He had hoped this guy would take the hint by now, so he guesses he’ll just have to spell it out for him. 

  
  


But that doesn’t come out of his mouth. 

  
  


What does instead, is; “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  
  
  
  
  


He’s mentally throttling himself by the time he gets to the train station.

  
  
  
  


* * *

Kurusu gave him his phone number. Why did he give him his phone number? Akechi imagines each ball coming at him is a phone, and enjoys the mental image of smashing it to bits. 

“Oh!” And he mentally groans. 

  
  


The batting cage is supposed to be empty at this time of night!! Why, on god's green earth -

“Kuru - Akira.” He stops himself just in time, and then notices the head of red hair behind Kurusu. “Who’s that?”

  
  


“I’m Kasumi Yoshizawa!” The girl peers out behind Kurusu, the mildly manic smile stretching all the way to her ears doing less to make him feel welcome, and more to unnerve him. “It’s very nice to meet you!”

“Kasumi… Yoshizawa.” The name rings a bell, but he can’t remember. Then again, it might be best not to question the identity of the slightly crazy girl behind Kurusu, and continues. “What brings you here at this time of night?”

“To smash balls.” Kurusu bluntly states. 

“Senpai, phrasing.” Kasumi says, and Kurusu rolls his eyes behind his glasses. 

Akechi’s brow twists with distinct disdain, but he swallows it down. “I see.” He says, before turning back to the launcher in front of him. “Well, I’ll be going back to it, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” And he had hoped that Kurusu would press about why he was being so cold today, so he could tell him off, but instead, he plops himself down on the bench to watch Kasumi. The cat (Kurusu wasn’t fooling anyone, they all knew he carried a cat around with him everywhere) meowed something, and Kurusu rolled his eyes, before turning back to Kasumi. 

  
  


It was almost painful, watching her miss every ball that came her way, and watching her get increasingly flustered. Her peppy ‘I’ll get the next one!’ became more and more strained until finally, after a solid half-hour of attempts, she hit the ball. 

  
  


More specifically, it hit her bat, and flew off in a direction that would be a foul if this was a real game. Nevertheless, she jumped up, whooping, while shouting “I did it!” and various things such as that.

  
  


Discreetly, Akechi rolls his eyes. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

“My house is this way.” Kurusu remarked after showing Kasumi off. “Wanna walk back with me?” 

  
  


_ I would rather eat sludge. _ “That sounds delightful.” 

  
  


And so, in cold silence, the pair walk back. 

  
  


Akechi’s eyeing Kurusu the whole walk back. Normally, the dense guy would be trying to strike up a conversation, but tonight, he seems… pensive. 

  
  


“Something on your mind?” He asks, and bites his tongue immediately after. 

Kurusu turns.

  
  


“Akechi, do you hate me?” 

The abruptness of the question stops Akechi in his tracks. “W-what do you mean?” He stutters out, attempting to keep the shards of his facade on. 

“You always look like someone’s force-feeding you a tablespoon of coconut oil whenever we hang out.” Kurusu remarks. “And just now - at the batting cages, you visibly recoiled when I showed up.” 

  
  


Akechi opens his mouth, and closes it. 

  
  


Not as dense as he had thought. 

  
  
  


“...I should go.” He mumbles, turning directly away. “Thank you for walking with me.” 

  
  


Kurusu doesn’t respond. 

  
  


But Akechi knows if he looks back, his face would be filled with disappointment.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

The epiphany hits Akechi late at night, when he’s feeding Tank. “Did Kurusu… actually like me?” He says aloud. 

Tank looks at him. 

Genuinely appreciated his presence. Considered him a friend, maybe. Akechi had found the idea so preposterous - stupid, even. He assumed that Kurusu was keeping him at arm's length for the same reason Akechi was - that he suspected that Akechi suspected that he was a Phantom Thief. That was his great ulterior motive.

But, as Naoto had told him, not everyone thought like he did. He had assumed that Kurusu knew that he suspected - but that took into account that Kurusu was a Phantom Thief anyways. And he may have held a grudge over nothing.

  
  


...Whooooops. 

  
  
  


He turns to Tank, holding out some food. But Tank turned his head away. 

“You’ve got no right to judge me, you’re a goddamn turtle.”

Tank, being a turtle, didn’t respond. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

The next day, Akechi was just taking a lunch break at some random cafe, when he saw Kurusu and his posse passing by. Akechi turns back to his coffee (still too sweet) and he has a distinct thought in the back of his head. 

  
  


_ Maybe you should apologize.  _

_ For what?  _ The rational part of his brain pipes up _. For Kurusu jumping to conclusions? For being a member of the Phantom Thieves maybe? Why should you apologize for that? Why are you getting up - HEY DUMBASS, WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING AFTER HIM - _

  
  


Akechi has NO IDEA what he’s doing. Quietly trailing after them, and stopping to hide behind a sign. He vaguely registers that they’re outside a corporate building - Okumura Foods. He can hear the blonde - Sakamato, or whatever - say something about a… meta-nav? What was that? And why on earth were they loitering around here - 

  
  
  
  
  


And the world bends. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Goro Akechi lives and dies on his own rules. 

And one of the unshakable ones is how to always be cool - to always land on your feet when trouble arises.

  
  
  


HOWEVER - that fact notwithstanding -

  
  
  


“What?” Is the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he looks at the massive dome over his head. ‘What’ is the only thing one can say when they’ve seemingly been teleported into FUCKING. SPACE.

  
  


He pinches himself. 

Nothing. 

  
  


But then, leaning over the railing, he sees a group of people below him. Strangely dressed ones, as a matter of fact - and the only thing his mildly hysterical brain can come up with is that the one in the red bodysuit clashes a lot with the rest of the group. No black on their outfit to speak of. 

  
  


But then, a familiar head of curly hair comes into view. 

  
  


A figure’s giving orders now. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


And Akechi’s sure if he was closer, he’d see this figure has a chip in their front left tooth when they smirk. 

  
  
  
  
  


Somehow - by heaven or hell’s intervention - he had found the Phantom Thieves. 

  
  
  
  


And he had been right. Kurusu Akira had been one of them the whole time. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


The first thing he can think of when they’re out of view is to tell someone. 

But who would he tell? The director? He was so stressed - probably dismiss what Goro had to say immediately. 

Sae? No - she hated him enough as is. 

Naoto? No - she doesn’t believe in this supernatural crap. Besides, she’d have no clue what to do anyways. 

  
  


He had to find proof.

Proof himself. 

  
  
  


Slipping across the top grids of the dome, he stealthy avoided anything he could see. Most doors were open (presumably cracked by the Phantom Thieves) and, every chance he gets, he snaps a photo or two of the strange, lurking contraptions he saw shambling around, at least until he notices none of them are showing up in his camera roll, and stops.

The place resembled a factory as much as a space station. He catches glimpses of robots in factory lines, orders being barked at them, and boxes of… whatever, strewn around. At one point, he thinks he sees a treasure chest, but it’s already been opened. 

The robots pay him no mind, as they seem incredibly preeoccupied with catching the Phantom Thieves. Either that, or he’s stealthier than he thought. 

  
  


But it doesn’t take long for him to hear noises. Quietly, he follows, the crashing getting louder and louder and - 

  
  
  


He has a distinct memory of him fifteen minutes ago saying; ‘this can’t get any weirder.’

It could. 

  
  


So, a small list of all of the impossible things he had seen today; 

1: Giant space-dome-robot-factory-thingy.

2: The Phantom Thieves themselves.

3: Makoto Nijima (maybe) in a biker outfit.

  
  


And now, number four -

4: GIANT FUCKING FLAMING DEMONS FIGHTING SAID FUCKING ROBOTS.

  
  
  


This - this was stupid. This was  _ dumb _ . There was  _ no  _ way any of this was actually happening, he had to be dreaming -

  
  


But nope. No way, life was never that easy, and Akira Kurusu and his posse could now add ‘being demon summoners’ to their list of ‘odd things they did together.’

  
  


Soon enough, the figure in the chair goes down. The one with the blonde hair - oh, that’s Sakamato- says something and the man replies - wait, was that Kunikazu Okumura?!

  
  


This was getting to be too much. All the new information pinging around in his brain felt like being in the batting cages, except he had no bat and the balls were just flying directly towards his face. 

  
  
  


Then, the thieves run. And the dome starts to collapse. 

  
  


Akechi panics in his hiding spot. The thing was about to fall on him - he was going to be crushed to death! What a fucking dumb way to die! He should at least run but he’s frozen-

  
  


But out of the corner of his eyes, he spots someone emerging from the shadows, strange ball gown billowing around their waist. 

Towards Okumura. 

  
  


And they have a gun. 

  
  
  


He wants to cry out - to run and stop whoever they are -

  
  
  
  


But he can only watch in horror as Okumura is shot, and vanishes into little black particles. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next few days are filled with uncertainty. He calls in sick, and spends a good while laundering about, debating what to do. 

  
  


Should he tell someone what he saw? Would anyone believe him? Is he actually just insane? Maybe he finally broke under the stress? Was Okumura okay? There hadn’t been any death reports, but he had called for a conference. Maybe that ‘dissolving into dust’ thing was normal?

* * *

  
  
  


He’s eating ramen when he sees Kunikazu Okumura die on live TV. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


It’s one in the morning. He hasn’t left his bed since last night.

  
  


Thoughts are running through his head at a mile a minute. About how he could have stopped this masked killer if he had been faster, or not so slow. Guilt wasn’t exactly an emotion he was super familiar with, but life seemed determined to kick him in the balls with it the past few weeks.

  
  
  


His phone buzzes. It’s been buzzing all day, and he hasn’t picked it up, but this buzz feels different. More urgent, maybe?

  
  
  


A small red app. The icon is an eerie red eye that seems to stare right at him.

“What the hell..” Instinctively, he swipes a finger over the app and deletes it.

Five minutes later, his phone buzzes again. He opens it.

  
  


The app is back.

It’s labeled; META NAVIGATOR

  
  


“Great.” On top of the existential breakdown he was having, now his phone had been hacked. The universe really did love to shit on him, didn’t it. 

Akechi opens it, and there’s a strange coldness to the phone in his hands all the sudden. He blinks the feeling away, but it… lingers. The app is simple, just an audio recorder that has three categories: name, place, distortion. He raises an eyebrow at that - distortion? The first two made somewhat sense, but what the hell did a distortion mean? Was it some kind of codeword? Maybe -

  
  


And a memory crashes into him at lightning speed. 

  
  
  


Sakamato. He had mentioned something. About a Meta-Nav. Before he had been sucked into that strange space factory where Kunikazu Okumura was ki -

But that’s not relevant right now, as he shoves that thought down into the back of his head. Could it be that this app has something to do with the Phantom Thieves? 

“That’s ridiculous.” He mutters out loud. But, he turns on the mic anyways.

“...Kunikazu Okumura.”

“DESTINATION HAS ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED.” A mechanical voice echoes back to him from the phone, unnaturally loud, and he almost drops it. 

  
  


“..Already destroyed?” Because Okumura was dead? Or perhaps…

  
  
  


Exhaling, he has an idea.

  
  
  


“Suguru Kamoshida.”

“DESTINATION HAS ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED.” 

“Ichiyasu Madarame.”

“DESTINATION HAS ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED.” 

“Junya Kaneshiro.”

“DESTINATION HAS ALREADY BEEN DESTROYED.” 

“...Medjed?”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.” Well, that made sense. Medjed probably wasn’t the person’s real name, after all - the Phantom Thieves must have located them in the real world - though that train of thought didn’t make much sense, since if this was how they found people, how would they have known who Medjed was? Perhaps they had some outside help?

Akechi gets out of bed, ignoring his limbs screaming in pain, as he pulls one of his numerous notepads from off his desk, and pulling a pen out of the drawer, starting to take notes like he always did when he was on a case. He listed what he knew - some people had destinations on the Meta-Nav, and that must be how their hearts got changed - so that raised the question for people without a destination. Could their hearts be changed at all? Was there simply another method for someone without a Meta-Nav destination? 

“Okay.” He mumbles to himself, chewing on the back of his pen. “Think. There’s obviously a pattern here.”

Perhaps that wasn’t what he should be focusing on right now. More than that, what qualified for people getting a location on this infernal thing anyways? Could they create one? Was that what distortion meant? Absentmindedly, he sits down in the swivel chair in front of his desk, and opens his computer, googling the definition of distortion. There were quite a few - but the one that stood out to him the most was the one that read ‘a misleading account or skewed description.’ Realizing a connection, he rummaged through his drawer to find a paper copy of one of the calling cards the station had given him - the one for Madarame. The line is in jet black, but his eyes instantly land on it.

“We will steal your distorted desires.”

There was that word. Distortion. Or well - distorted desires, but that was beside the point. That could be synonymous with ‘stealing a heart’, right? Their perceptions were changed and they confessed to their crimes. Akechi opens the app back up, to look at the slots again. It hadn’t changed, but now he knew someone what to look for. 

To change someone’s heart - 

To change someone’s  _ mind _ !

  
  
  


“Of course.” He exclaims, leaning back in his chair. “That’s already obvious. You already knew that dipshit.” But it’s different now. So then, what did that other world have to do with it?

  
  


If he wanted to make any more observations, he’d need more information. And to do that, he’d have to find a way back there. Which meant locating a target. 

Okay. 

Does he know anyone with potentially distorted worldviews?

  
  


He leans into the mic. “...Sae Niijima.”

  
  


“NO TARGETS FOUND.” Well, it was worth a shot. Then again, she wasn’t as stressed as SOME of his co-workers - hell, maybe not even as stressed as he was. 

  
  


“Naoto Shirogane.”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.” Okay, that was actually good. He didn’t know what that exactly entailed, and Akechi would rather not fight his only friend. 

“...Akira Kurusu.”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.”

“Makoto Niijima.”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.”

“Haru Okumura.”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.”

“Yusuke… fuck, what’s his last name? Madarame?”

“NO TARGETS FOUND.”

“...Sakamoto… Sakamoto… okay, I’m not even gonna pretend I know his name.”

“NO TARGETS FOU-”

“I get it!” Sighing, he let his face flop onto the desk. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He wracks his brain for ANYONE who the Phantom Thieves might want to target. 

Think. Each member of the group coincided with one of the people taken down, at least, the ones he recognized. Sakamato had been crippled by the gym teacher, the girl - Takamaki - had some run-ins with him too. Yusuke had been abused by his former teacher, Makoto’s older sister was working to catch Kaneshiro, and Haru’s father had been killed, which left the orange haired one - Sakura? Wasn’t Sae involved with her somehow? And Akira. If he had to guess, the ginger probably had something to do with Medjed - he had heard Akira talk about her every now and then - which left Akira himself. He was only tangentially connected to Kamoshida - so who would Akira go after himself? Was there anyone who he personally considered a threat of some sort? Someone whose heart needed to be changed? Someone-

  
  
  
  


...Oh.

  
  
  


Akechi swallows. An idea comes to him - a morbid one, but one that certainly makes sense. 

  
  


He opens the app back up. The red eye at the top stares back at him, as if to taunt him and his impending doom.

  
  
  


He activates the mic. 

  
  


“...Goro Akechi.”

  
  
  
  
  


“TARGET FOUND.”

Akechi leans back in his seat. Inhales. Exhales. 

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Is the only thing that comes out of his mouth.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discord: https://discord.gg/7fGKDJ2
> 
> youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1PtaW8dTzCzlDfb76VRU9Q


	2. Part 2 - oh boy, psychoanalysis time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The word distortion itself was so vague. While he has some idea of what it could mean, the fact of the matter was that it was too broad. His first guess would be how he saw the world - to that he had just said “stupid” into the mic. It hadn’t worked, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Doofinshmirtz voice) backstory time!
> 
> I write + draw more about this on my tumblr: https://squipedmew.tumblr.com/

Three days. 

  
  


It had been three days since Akechi had discovered he has a target on the Meta-Nav. And three days with almost no progress on the stupid final slot. The distortion.

He had figured out the location pretty quickly. When it wasn’t the place he hung out the most - his apartment- his next best guess was where he worked, at SIU. And sure enough, the agency had been correct.

However - that wasn’t the problem. 

The word  _ distortion  _ itself was so vague. While he has some idea of what it could mean, the fact of the matter was that it was too broad. His first guess would be how he saw the world - to that he had just said “stupid” into the mic. It hadn’t worked, of course.

After listing off a bunch of adjectives for his general disdain for people, he thought he might be thinking too specifically. Kunikazu’s location, after all, had been some kind of high-tech space factory or something. And he doubted the man thought of the world that way, unless he was delusional. 

Was it some kind of a metaphor thing? Akechi hated metaphors - so vague and intangible. Really, it just depends on how your mind works. There’s no universal metaphor, only ones you believe in. 

Which left him where he is now, sitting at his desk in his apartment, chewing on the back of his pen, staring at the various lists and wads of paper he had crumpled up. 

Eventually, he had to go back to work. It was hard, when all he could really concentrate on was his own problems, and much less whatever the Phantom Thieves were doing - since, after all, he knows somewhat of what they’re doing - at least, he assumes so. 

_ But why would Kurusu target me in the first place? _ Akechi thinks, absentmindedly doodling on his list of possible distortions _. Is it some kind of petty vengeance for our falling out? _ He was fairly sure Kurusu was too soft to hold too much of a grudge - but then again, he was the leader of the Phantom Thieves. 

His phone buzzes. Groaning, Akechi swivels out of his seat to pick it up. It’s Naoto. 

_ Well, there are at least some good things in the world. _ He thinks to himself as he answers. 

  
  


“Hey.” She says, sounding quieter than usual. 

“Hi.” His throat suddenly catches. His week had been so weird - it’s as if he’s forgotten how to talk like a normal person. “How’s life?”

“Fine.” A pause. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?”

“About Okumura.” Ah. Right. “I wanted to know how that was going, since you were assigned to the Phantom Thieves case and all that.”

“...Fine.” Well, aside from seeing the man murdered in front of him and having to deal with all of the questions and baggage that came with it, as well as now possibly being targeted by the Phantom Thieves themselves.

“You don’t sound like you’re doing great.”

“I -” He exhales. He can’t get anything past Naoto, can he? “No. I actually haven’t.”

“Case been bugging you?” That’s one way to put it. 

“More like… there’s just been some… stuff that’s cropped up lately.”

He can almost hear Naoto arch an eyebrow. “Stuff?”

“Something like that.”

“I see.” Shuffling in the background. “Do you need any help?”

Well…

“So - hypothetically speaking.”

“Yes.”

“If you had to use one word to describe your mind - what would it be? And it can’t be an adjective.”

“...I’m confused. How am I supposed to explain it then?”

“Well - I don’t know, you’re smarter than me, I don’t get what’s going on either.” He pauses. “In this hypothetical situation, of course.”

“...Right.” And Naoto’s voice almost sounds like something’s dawned on her. “Hypothetically.”

“Yeah.”

“...Well, hypothetically speaking,” And it almost sounds like she’s smiling, “If I had to describe my mind, it’d be some kind of secret laboratory.”

“...A what?”

“A secret laboratory.” Now Naoto definitely sounds like she’s smiling, as if there’s a joke he’s not let in on. 

“You can’t use a place to describe your mind.”

“Why not?”

He’s got no rebuttal. “...Fair point.” He sits back down in his chair. 

“So - hypothetically speaking - if you had to put your mind to a place, what would you pick?” She asks.

“A place?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Yeah, hypothetically. Uh…” He stutters and fails to answer the question, and just settles for shrugging.

“I can’t see you through the phone, so I’m just going to assume you shrugged.”

“Yeah.” 

“Well… whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll come to you.” And with that, she hangs up.

And a few seconds before she does, he swears he hears snickering.

  
  


If there was a camera, he’d be staring straight into it like he was on The Office.

  
  


But, he concludes, Naoto did have a point. Perhaps there was something to what she said about locations. 

He glared at the offending distortion slot, glowing red on his phone’s screen. “This is your fault, you know.” He mumbles, before throwing his hands up in the air, and swiveling backwards in his rolling chair. He was EXHAUSTED - perhaps he should go get some coffee. 

_ Leblanc?  _ His tratorus mind supplies. He shakes his head, as if to mentally slap himself. _ I don’t think I could go in there with a straight face - especially if Kurusu’s there. _

God. Kurusu.

  
  


That son of a bitch had been lying to him the whole time. It seemed like his earlier theory was right; that Kurusu had only been friendly to him to keep tabs on him. And now, knowing he might be being targeted by him, it only stung all the more. 

_ Are you upset? _

Don’t be stupid. Why would he be upset that a potential suspect had turned out to be guilty after all? It wasn’t as if this hadn’t happened before. 

  
  


~~_ I am. _ ~~

  
  


* * *

  
  


So he leaves his apartment (after like, what, two days? He has no idea how that Sakura girl managed to live like that for so long) and slinks down the road, to a dinky chain coffee shop, located next to a strange looking fortune telling table, where the workers spell his name as “Adachi” instead of Akechi on his cup. He wonders if that’s on purpose, as he sits in one of the rusty iron tables outside, if only to get away from the crummy music they were playing inside.

  
  


(He wonders if anyone noticed he was gone.)

  
  
  


“Akechi?”

And he chokes on the weak coffee he had been served, swiveling around to see, sure enough, Kurusu, standing on the sidewalk across the street, looking confused. Akechi blanks, panics, and hits the abort button, quickly packing up his bag and grabbing his cup. 

“Hey wait where are you - HEY WAIT!” But he’s already taken off in the opposite direction, crossing his fingers that Kurusu will take the fucking hint for once-

“Hold on!” And of course he caught up to him, of course. Probably from all the running he’s done in that strange other world. Kurusu doesn’t even look winded, but what he does look, is concerned. Maybe even a bit frustrated? Kurusu grabs his wrist, and spits out an; “I need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Akechi snarls back, wrenching his wrist out of Kurusu’s iron grasp, and trying to ignore how red his ears are. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m incredibly busy, so -”

“I’m sorry.”

The simple phrase stops Akechi in his tracks. 

“You - you’re what?”

“I’m sorry.” Kurusu repeats, grey eyes unblinking and firm. “About last time. At the batting cages.”

“...What?” Akechi’s brow crinkles. “I - why are you apologizing?”

“What I asked.” Kurusu replies. “About if you - didn’t like me.” 

Ah. That. For a minute, Akechi thought Kurusu had actually figured him out. “Okay?” He says, literally wanting to be anywhere but where he was. “What’s your point?”

“I - you’re not mad?” Kurusu asks, confused. 

“No, I’m not - look, I don’t have time for this.” He snarls, and turns, only for Kurusu to, again, stop him, this time by grabbing his hand, and he can feel how hot Kurusu’s hand is and  _ STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT YOU FUCKING MORON. _

“Akechi, please listen.” He says, but Akechi wrenches his hand away. 

“I have listened, and your apology is accepted.” He throws his hands up in the air out of exasperation. “What more do you want from me?”

“It doesn’t sound like you forgive me.” Kurusu says, and - is that a hint of hurt in his voice? God, how rich, coming from the leader of the Phantom Thieves.

“I can assure you, I am mad at you for a _completely_ different reason.” Akechi spits out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  
  
  


Kurusu doesn’t try to stop him this time. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

Back at the station, after the flames of his panic-induced anger have cooled, Akechi starts mentally throttling himself.  _ You moron!  _ He shouts internally.  _ Now Kurusu’s going to be even more suspicious of you! Great job. _

  
  


“Oh. It’s you.” Sae doesn’t seem remotely happy to see him. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine.” He snarls, before storming to the bathroom, locking himself in a stall, and sliding down the wall. 

  
  


Here he was, trying to be all suave and cool, and he blew it. All because Kurusu was - he was - 

“A faker.” He mumbles to himself. “...But then again, so am I, the great Goro Akechi. This whole goddamn station knows it.” He sighs. “All the world’s a stage, after all.” He says bitterly.

  
  


“STARTING NAVIGATION.” 

  
  


The electronic voice issuing from his bag makes him jump, slamming his head against the wall. Fumbling around in his briefcase, he located his phone, to see that it had turned on by itself. More specifically, the Metaverse Navigator had turned on by itself. 

And the distortion slot had finally been filled in.

  
  
  
  


DISTORTION: STAGE

  
  
  


“Oh.” Is all he can say before the red ripples whisk him away once again. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Spawning inside his mind about fifty feet up on top of a pillar was not exactly how he thought entry would go.

  
  


Stumbling back, and almost falling off, Akechi pulled himself up from the ball he had curled himself in, only to be struck with a bad case of vertigo. 

He had done it. He had figured out his keywords. 

“This is insane.” He mumbles to himself. “This is insane, insane, insane-” 

But he cuts himself off when he notices a familiar group gathered below. 

  
  


Of COURSE he would show up the same time the Phantom Thieves did.

  
  


“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” The blonde one - Sakamoto? Yells. “Why the hell is the security still so damn high?”

“Perhaps he’s just very paranoid?” The one in the Fox mask replies. 

“No - even if he was, this doesn’t make any sense.” Yes, that’s definitely Nijima - he imagines Sae’s face when she finds out - that’ll be hilarious to watch. “It’s only usually this high when the target’s aware that we’re coming to steal their heart - right Joker?”

And there’s the bastard himself, Akira Kurusu - or Joker, as his codename seems to be. Even from this high up, Akechi can sense the nerves radiating off of him.

“I thought you said you talked to him?” The pigtailed blonde asks. 

“I - well, I did.” Kurusu replies. “It just didn’t go… great.” 

“What do you mean?” Okumura asks. 

“I mean - he said he accepted my apology, or something, but it didn’t really sound like it, and he said he was mad at me for another reason, which I dunno…?”

“JOKER!!” About half of them yell. 

“Did you seriously tell him about this?” And that’s new - this tiny strange creature - a monster cat of some sort - pipes up. 

“No, I didn’t!” Kurusu exclaims. “But - he’s been suspicious of me for a while - maybe he figured it out?”

“Guys.” Everyone stops when Okumura points in his direction. “Up there - I think it’s a guard.” 

Akechi freezes, pressing himself against the roof as tightly as he could, praying they didn’t investigate. 

A pause.

  
  


“...We should get in.” The fox-man says. 

“Yeah.” Sakamoto replies. “We still got a treasure to steal.”

They slip in through a back vent, and Akechi releases a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Now that he wasn’t panicking so much, he could really take in his surroundings. 

Sure enough, the place resembled a giant, ritzy looking theater - like one of the ones you’d see in downtown Tokyo. Huge, sparkling stained glass windows were built into it, each one emblazoned with those laughing, crying masks you’d see whenever you’d look up the word theater and went to google images. There were neon lights everywhere, which really didn’t mix well with the place’s fancy aesthetic, and a giant sign in the front, saying; “ONE TIME ONLY: COME SEE THE FAMOUS DETECTIVE PRINCE!”

In short, it was incredibly tacky. 

  
  


“Who knew the inside of my brain looked like shit.” Akechi mumbles, before slamming his arm against a roof vent, busting it open, and sliding into the darkness below.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

Good news - the vents were a plain gray. At least his eyes weren’t bleeding out as he free-fell down. 

Granted, he didn’t know what he was expecting. It’s a roof vent. Of course it would go straight down. What if it just straight up didn’t end? Or kept getting smaller until he was squished into a noodle like that one manga he read as a kid?

Akechi was so busy ruminating on his manga-related childhood trauma, he almost didn’t notice that the shaft was ending, until the bright light was literally in his face.

  
  


He slams shoulder-first into plush carpet - but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt that much, even though he had fallen somewhat of fifty feet straight down a ventilator shaft, but whatever. Other world logistics, who cares. Brushing himself off, he looked over the railing, to see some kind of… foyer? Ballroom? Whatever it was, it was crowded with people, only, instead of heads, they all had these floating mask looking things. Most were the laughing ones, but a few had the sadder looking ones on the stained glass. 

Standing out like a sore thumb, were the Phantom Thieves, trying to finagle their way through this throng of well-dressed mask people.  _ So much for security being high.  _ He thought to himself. The man at the entrance to the next room - it looked to be like a hallway leading to various theaters - stopped them, and Akechi watched closely. 

“Tickets, or no entry.” Each one of them hands one over - presumably gotten from their previous trips or something - before the bouncer unhooked the velvet rope, and let them through. 

  
  


Huh. The question was - where had they gotten the tickets?

Well, he sighs, the only way to find out is to ask. 

  
  
  


* * *

“Excuse me -” He’s interrupted by the bouncer looking at him in shock - or as shocked as a mask with one static facial expression could look, anyways. 

“Sir Akechi? What are you doing out here?”

“Um -”

Before he can say anything, the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope. “You’re needed in Theater Six- the show’s about to start!”

Well, he supposes, he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “...Thanks.” He manages to eek out, before shutting the door behind him and - 

  
  


-Ah.

That’s… not something he was really expecting to see today. 

  
  


It was an apartment hallway- his old one, back in Inaba - only - not. For one thing, each door had some kind of eye on it, varying from normal, to bloodshot and dry. Secondly, his apartment - number twelve - was missing, the only thing there, instead, was -

“Tank?” He exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  
  


Tank, being a turtle, didn’t respond.

  
  


Akechi looked around, before picking Tank up, and slinging him under his arm. “Fine then.” He muttered. “Let’s go.”

  
  


He decided to start with theater number 1.

  
  


“State your name.” And that’s  _ also  _ something he didn’t want to see. The eye somehow opens wide, showing a mouth inside. 

“...Goro Akechi?” He asks. 

There’s an audible pause. 

  
  


“...Proceed.” And the door opens and reveals a crowded, dingy looking theater inside. Akechi enters, then thinks better of it, turning around, only to see the door is gone. 

“...Well then.” He says to Tank. “Guess it’s just you and me.”

Tank blinks at him.

  
  


He moves to sit down, scooting down the aisles, and making his way to the only empty seats, the very back row, puting Tank down in the chair next to him.

The lights dim. The curtain opens. 

  
  


And it’s not him onstage - but someone who looks quite familiar to him - but he can’t place his finger on it. She’s tall, skinny, and just generally looks horrible. The wall descends behind her, and props are wheeled out. It’s a grungy looking bathroom of some sort. 

There’s the sound effect of the door opening, and -

  
  
  


It’s not quite him. The features are smoky, and he looks much younger. 

But it’s unmistakably supposed to be him - the doppelganger's hair is even tied back in his trademark ponytail.

  
  


“What the hell is this?” He stands up and snarls, but then, all the masked people turn their heads all the way around to look at him, and whisper; “SHHHHHH.”

  
  


He sits down. 

  
  
  
  


“Mom?” The younger him says. “Are you okay?”

  
  


The lady onstage doesn’t respond. 

“Mom?” And with acute clarity, he suddenly remembers this moment. 

“No.” Akechi mumbles, but the scene carries on.

  
  
  


“Get out of here.” The woman - his mother - hisses.

“No.” He repeats again, more loudly this time.

“Why?” The boy onstage asks, before seeing the red bleeding from her wrists. It’s fake blood, obviously - but it looks real to both of them. “Mom?”

“I SAID  _ STOP _ _!!_ ”

  
  
  


And the theater is gone. The stage is empty, and the people have left. It’s just him - him and Tank. 

“I forgot about that.” And he turns, to see the younger him sitting next to him, eyes a piercing shade of nothing. “The day mom died. It was right after my birthday.”

“Stop.”

“I was so happy that day. And then the next day came.”

“Stop it.”

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and went to the bathroom.”

“I said shut  _ up _ .”

“And she had slit her wrists.” The words sounded too bleak to be coming out of such a small boy’s mouth.

  
  


“...What do you get out of this?” Akechi finally exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “I know what happened that night - why do you insist on telling it back to me like I’ve never heard it before?!”

“Because you forgot.” The younger him says, before standing up. 

  
  


(Akechi forgot how small he used to be. How he used to have freckles.)

  
  


“Come on.” The younger him says, and guesteres to the door, which has reappeared, because of course it has. “There’s more to see.”

His other self doesn’t sound angry, or spiteful, or gleeful. Just calm. Resigned. Content, he observes as his clone picks up Tank, to be miserable. 

“How many more of these infernal doors do we have to go through?”

“Five.”

“ _Fantastic_.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He’s halfway down the hallway when something occurs to him.

“Wait - the Phantom Thieves are here, right?” He asks Small Akechi. Small Akechi nods. “Have they… have they been in here?” Small Akechi nods again. 

“Shit.” Dashing forwards, Akechi skips past to door six, and pulls on the handle, only to discover it’s locked. 

“State your name.” The horrifying eye-mouth says again.

“Let me in.” he hisses, tugging on it harder. 

“State your name-”

“It’s Goro fucking Akechi, now let me in!” The eye pauses, before closing, and vanishing from the door.

“You haven’t seen the other shows yet.” Small Akechi says. 

“I have to go in order?!” Did the Phantom Thieves have to go in order too, he thinks, panicking. For the first time, it’s dawned on him how invasive a trip into someone’s mind is, and mentally adds it to the list of things to yell at Kurusu for later.

“Yes. Come on.” Small Akechi takes his hand to lead him back down the hall, but Akechi pulls it away.

“I can walk for myself,  _ thank you _ . Aren’t you supposed to be the child here, anyways?” Small Akechi still doesn’t say anything, only staring at him with those black eyes of his, before turning back to Theater Two. “Not gonna say anything?” He still doesn’t. “Fine then. Let’s just get this over with.”

  
  
  


* * *

Theater Two is still crowded, but not every seat is taken, unlike last time. Despite there being more options, Akechi still opts to sit in the back, Tank on one side, and Small Akechi on the other. Once again, the lights dim, the orchestra warms up, and Akechi feels his stomach tighten with dread. The curtains rise once again, and this time, Akechi recognizes the locale.

It’s a small field, or, at least, a pale imitation of one. For all the niceties of the theater, the props look like something out of a high school play. There’s a large, flat cutout of a tree, and under it, sits another Akechi, albeit a bit older, perhaps nine or ten. He’s reading a book, one that Akechi actually recognizes as that one manga about the mountain that crushed people alive.. 

Then, out of nowhere, someone pops out behind the cutout. The hair is shorter, and the silhouette is wispy, but Akechi recognizes the face. 

“Naoto.” He breathes. 

  
  


There’s a pause, in which Not-Naoto is looking at Not-Akechi’s book behind his back, before his other self shuts the book and sighs. 

“If you want to read it, just say so.” Naoto steps back now, fully out of view behind the tree. 

“Ah - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop.” The way both of them speak is formal, but almost sloppy - like both of them were trying to sound older then they are.

“No, it’s fine.” Both him and the Akechi onstage repeat, Akechi under his breath. Unlike the last theater, he had this conversation seared into his brain. “You just surprised me.”

There’s another pause, in which Naoto and him both look away awkwardly. Finally, Naoto speaks. “Isn’t that a bit… scary to be reading?” 

“What, this?” Not-Akechi extends the offending manga. “Maybe a little bit. Does it scare you?” 

“Does it scare you?” Naoto replies. 

There’s a pause. 

“I’m Goro Akechi.” Not-Akechi says.

“I’m Naoto Shirogane.” Not-Naoto replies. 

They shake, and the curtains begin to close. 

  
  
  


“Neither of us answered the question.” And once again, the Akechi onstage is now sitting next to him, where Small Akechi once was, black eyes trained elsewhere. 

“The answer was yes.” Akechi replies, staring down at his hands, clenched tight in his lap. “It did scare us - we just pretended it didn’t.”

“And that was the mantra for a while.” Not-Akechi says. “Pretending we weren’t scared of anything, when, in reality, we were scared of everything. The difference was,” And now the black eyes are trained on him. “Naoto learned how to deal with fear. You did not.”

The back of his neck turns ice-cold. 

“Whatever.” Akechi mutters. “Can we go now?”

“As you wish.” Young Akechi stands up, and gestures to the door, which is back.

  
  
  
  


* * *

He opens the theater door, and the hallway is different now. It’s red, and the walls are plaster, instead of concrete. It’s still an apartment building, but a different one. The one he had first been in when he had been shipped off to Tokyo. 

“Do you recognize this place?” Not Akechi asks. 

“You’re me, do the math, idiot.” Ignoring his other self’s cold gaze, he stormed down the hall, ignoring the icy feeling in his gut.

“State your-”

“Goro Akechi, now let me in already.”

  
  


The door to Theater Three opens. 

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

Theater Three is even less crowded, with most aisle seats being available. They sit, once again, in the back.

“You seem to be in a hurry.” Young Akechi says.

“The sooner I get through this fucking psychoanalysis session or whatever, the sooner I can get out of here.” That wasn’t the whole reason, actually. He just really wanted to stop the Phantom Thieves from seeing anything else. 

“Has it occurred to, that there may be a reason why your mind is showing you all these things in the first place?” Not Akechi asks. 

“Excuse me?” But Not Akechi presses a finger to his lips, and the curtain rises. Akechi scowls, then turns his attention back to the stage. 

  
  


Sure enough, it’s the exact same apartment that was the one outside, albeit a bad set version of one. Akechi watches as another version of himself is dragged onstage by a woman - his first foster mother, if his memory served him correctly. There’s a bruise on the side of the stage him’s face - someone threw a can at him, Akechi thinks. 

“What were you thinking?” The woman says. Bruised Akechi wrenches his arm away, pouting. “The streets around here aren’t like the ones from wherever you came from - you very well could have been killed - or worse.”

“Don’t care.” Bruised Akechi mumbles. The woman’s face slowly slides into a mask of cold fury.

“Get inside.” She snarls. 

“No.”

“I said, get inside.”

“No-”

The woman raised a hand, as if to strike - 

But stopped herself. And sighed, all anger seeping out of her body, replaced with resentment and despair. “Haven’t you already gotten hurt enough tonight?” She asks. “Just - we’ll talk about this later. Go inside.”

  
  
  


The curtain shuts.

“I did.” And again, like clockwork, Not Akechi is gone, replaced by Bruised Akechi. “I holed myself up in the room for a whole two days after that.”

“I ran away.” The memory is fuzzy, if not a bit suppressed. “I wanted to go back to living with Naoto - I regretted leaving so much.”

“I knew she couldn’t support me.” Bruised Akechi says despondently, black gaze one of somber resentment. “But she was the only one who cared.”

“I’d rather have her eat then deal with me and starve to death.” Akechi retorts sharply.

Bruised Akechi turns to look at him. “We both know that’s not true.” He replies, ice in his tone. 

Tank looks up at him. For once, there’s a semblance of life behind his eyes, as if to say,  _ seriously man? _

“...Let’s go.” 

“You never want to stay to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” Akechi snarls as he opens the door to the hallway. 

“Reflecting is good.” Bruised Akechi replies. 

“I don’t have time to reflect.”

“You never have time.” And Akechi stops, because now Bruised Akechi’s in front of him. “You’re always working towards something - you never have time to stop and think.”

“Because I don’t like what I think about, okay?!” Akechi admits, throwing his hands up in the air. “There, I said it. Happy now?”

“No.” Bruised Akechi says, opening Theater Door Four. “You’re not.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

He can count the number of people in Theater Four on two hands - about nine. It’s colder in there, as if the air conditioner had been turned all the way up. There’s no orchestra this time, and the curtain is blue instead of red - he could never pick which color he liked better between the two. There’s no fanfare when it rises. 

  
  


The room is worn down, and there’s hardly anything in it, but a bed, and a Featherman poster, one which was half-torn down anyways, and a window, one which he could see there was a bit of snow outside. It looked more like a prison cell than a room, honestly. The other version of him enters stage right, holding a home phone in one hand, and tightly clenching his shirt in the other. “H-Hello?” He asks. 

“Hey Goro.”

“Naoto?” The other Akechi sits down on the bed, relaxing, just a little bit. “W-why are you calling me so late?”

“I just -” And he can almost hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Can I… talk to you?”

“...Is everything okay?” He asks. 

“It’s just… I -” Naoto’s voice cracks over the receiver. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Did… something happen?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Does it have to do with the case?” 

“A little bit.”

“Oh.” The other him - he looks tired - looks like he doesn’t know what to say, but then, Naoto speaks up again.

“Can you… just - stay on the other end?”

“Oh.” Other Akechi looks a bit flustered. “I… sure.”

  
  
  


“...How was your day?’

  
  
  


“...My day was good.”

  
  
  
  


The curtains close. 

  
  
  
  
  


“It hadn’t been.” Other Akechi laments, sitting next to him. “As a matter of fact, it had been one of the worst days of my life.”

“...Ms. Aiko hit me, right?” He asks his other self. Ms. Aiko had been his old foster mother - keyword being had. 

“I had always heard stories about evil foster parents in the media - but I had always assumed it was an exaggeration.” Other Akechi laughs, but it sounds more like a pathetic sigh. “Or maybe I just had a bad string of luck.”

“Naoto never called first.”

“That’s right, she never did.” Other Akechi looks away, and something resembling a smile crosses his face. “It was the first time  _ she  _ called first. And perhaps, it was the first time she was ever really honest with you to your face.” 

“...Yeah.” The two of them had been able to figure out stuff about the other on their own, but it was the first time one of them had ever really approached the other about an emotional issue. 

“Is it weird to call ‘comforting your friend over a mental breakdown’ one of your happier memories?” Other Akechi asks. 

Akechi looks away. “...I don’t think so. I’m you, after all.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

Theater Five is completely empty, save for one person in the front row. 

“Well, this is depressing.” He says upon entering.

“Agreed.” The two sit down in the back, and the curtains rise. 

  
  
  


The stage is empty. There are no props, no sound, nothing. Just him, laying on the floor. 

  
  


“𝓑𝓸𝔂.” An echoing voice issues out from all sides of the theater, and the room shakes.  “ 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓡𝓲𝓼𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾.”

The Akechi does, and a single spotlight shines down from above. He shields himself from the glare, and the voice continues, smoke billowing out from the stage. 

“...𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭. 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽.”

“Right about what?” The onstage Akechi asks. 

“𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓹𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓪𝓵.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮. 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭?” 

“...To be left alone?”

The voice doesn’t reply. 

“Is this a serious question?”

“𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮, 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓵.”

“Hey, you started the conversation.” When the voice is silent, the onstage Akechi continues. “Fine. I guess… uh… to have control.”

He can almost hear the smile in this disembodied entity’s voice. “𝓘𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓸?” He asks. 

“All my life, I’ve been pushed around.” And he can tell that onstage Akechi’s gaining steam. “From one family to another, from person to person. All I want is to just - to just get all that to stop. To do what I want to do.”

“𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮?”

  
  


“...I want to be a detective.” And the voice’s laughter is loud, booming,  _ mocking  _ even, and both him and the onstage Akechi cover their ears. 

“𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓐𝓛𝓛 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮?”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

“𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓸 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓪 𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓮'𝓼 𝓵𝓪𝓹 𝓭𝓸𝓰. 𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽.”

“...Not following.”

“𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽.” And the voice has turned dark and cold. “𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓾𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓣𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮.” 

“Revenge?” 

“𝓣𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮.” And a face comes into view, one of such malice and otherworldliness, the onstage Akechi falls to his knees in awe. 

“𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓭𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓭?”

  
  


And, out of nowhere, the curtains fall shut, the lights come on, and the blaring sound of a ringtone comes on.

  
  


“Someone called you.” A voice next to him says. “And you never saw that thing again.”

  
  


He turns, expecting to see the Akechi onstage next to him, but it’s not. 

It IS him, but… different. He looks to be about the same age, if not a bit younger. His hair is down for once, and his blazer isn’t rolled up, buttoned up like it was supposed to be worn. Akechi takes note of the fake Akechi’s gloves, nary a wrinkle in sight.

He always hated gloves. 

  
  


“Who… who are you?” He asks Fake Akechi. “I recognized all of the other me’s, but - I don’t recognize you. And I certainly don’t remember THAT encounter.”

“Do you wonder what would have happened if Naoto hadn’t called you that morning?” Fake Akechi asks, eyes too cold for the pleasant smile on his face.

“...I…” The dream is coming back to him, the face he saw onstage becoming clear in his mind. “Maybe…?”

“You might be me.” Fake Akechi turns, smile still plastered across his face. “You could be somewhere completely different.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows?” Fake Akechi turns away, fiddling with the hem of his gloves. “You might be the same. You might be a member of the Thieves, perhaps. Or dead.”

“...That is always a possibility.” This play, more than any of the others, stood out to him. 

  
  
  


(He wondered if he may have escaped a terrible fate, by answering the phone that morning.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like i gotta put another nickel in the 'refrences to amigara fault in my fics' jar!
> 
> This was originally gonna be one chapter, but it was too long, so I split it into two. forgive me. 
> 
> Discord: https://discord.gg/7fGKDJ2
> 
> youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1PtaW8dTzCzlDfb76VRU9Q


	3. Part 3 -feral detective off the string, what crimes will he commit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the copies from before, his eyes aren’t pools of black, rather, an unearthly shade of yellow. On his face was half of the masks from the stained-glass windows, but no matter how much Akechi squinted, he couldn’t tell if it was the laughing one or the crying one. The outfit was some kind of stereotypical prince garb, all bathed in gold, and a red cape was draped elegantly over the chair. Nestled in his hair was a golden crown, but unlike the rest of his outfit, it was rusted, tattered. The little expression that Akechi could make out on his face was twisted into a sneer. 
> 
> “I’ve been expecting you.” The Other Akechi says, tilting his head in a condescending way. “To think the great Phantom Thieves would pay me a visit… I’m flattered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akechi: ill kick anyones ass. Ill kick your ass. Ill kick his ass. ill even kick my own ass.
> 
> I write + draw more about this on my tumblr: https://squipedmew.tumblr.com/

The sixth door.

In all honesty, it feels a little… anticlimactic? The only difference between it and the others was that it was a little bit fancier, but that had been the case with the other four as well, each getting more elaborate as he went along.

  
  


Fake Akechi’s eyes bore into him, and Akechi has the strong urge to smack the annoyingly polite version of him upside the head.

“Aren’t they in there?” Fake Akechi asks, tilting his head to the right. “And here I thought you wanted to stop them.”

“I do, - it’s just -” He has no idea what’s waiting on the other side. Another him? An army of himself, all spouting the thoughts he has to himself in the middle of the night? That would be stupid - but maybe a bit funny as well. “I’m mentally preparing myself.”

“Judging by this place’s existence, I wouldn’t say you’ll ever be mentally prepared.”

“Oh shut up.”

  
  


Akechi’s hand touches the handle-

  
  
  
  


Suddenly, he’s dangling. Akechi shrieks, (not a sound he’d ever like to make again) looking downward. Somehow, because of _course_ , the door had shot up the wall about fifty feet up. Falling from this height would probably break his ankles at least.

“HEY!” He yells at Fake Akechi “HELP???”

“What can I do?” The other him says with a smug smirk. “I’m all the way down here.”

“Oh FUCK you!!” Grunting, Akechi swings back and forth, ignoring the waves of terror coursing through his stomach, willing his weight to push the door open. He swings once, twice, and finally, it creaks open, juuuuust far enough for him to grab onto the floor on the other side and scrabble for purchase, collapsing into a heap on cold steel. 

He hears a faint swish, and turns to see that the door has disappeared. “Fantastic.” He mutters to himself. 

Taking in his surroundings, Akechi notices where he is. It’s a catwalk, suspended precariously above Theater Five with a combination of ropes, chains, and duct tape. For a place so fancy, this felt oddly tacked on and hardly put together. Looking below his feet, he can see through the small holes in the floor the theater below is completely empty. The lights are still on, as if it just opened. 

As if the show hadn’t started. 

  
  


Which meant -

  
  


“Oh thank fucking _god_.” He had gotten here before the Phantom Thieves. But what the hell had they been doing all this time? Surely his sob story couldn’t have taken them THAT long to get through, so -

Suddenly, a grate over his head rudely shoots out of its hold. Akechi scrambles back into the shadows just in time to see a flash of color and motion drop from the ventilator shaft, shooting past the catwalk entirely, and landing safely on the velvet floor below them. 

Sure enough, it was the Phantom Thieves. Akechi was about ready to tear his hair out. It made sense, sure, that they had gotten here, but that meant there was MORE to this infernal building then just the theaters? What else had they seen? What else _was_ there?

  
  
  


The lights dim.

  
  
  


The curtain shifts, and someone appears onstage. 

  
  


The spotlight flashes on a familiar figure, seated comfortably in a chair.

  
  
  


“Welcome,” The Other Akechi says, “To my Theater.”

  
  
  


Unlike the copies from before, his eyes aren’t pools of black, rather, an unearthly shade of yellow. On his face was half of the masks from the stained-glass windows, but no matter how much Akechi squinted, he couldn’t tell if it was the laughing one or the crying one. The outfit was some kind of stereotypical prince garb, all bathed in gold, and a red cape was draped elegantly over the chair. Nestled in his hair was a golden crown, but unlike the rest of his outfit, it was rusted, tattered. The little expression that Akechi could make out on his face was twisted into a sneer. 

“I’ve been expecting you.” The Other Akechi says, tilting his head in a condescending way. “To think the great Phantom Thieves would pay me a visit… I’m flattered.”

“Save it.” Sakamoto growled, stepping forward, only being kept from decking the guy by Nijima putting her hand in front of him. “We’re here for your treasure.”

Now it was the Other Akechi’s turn to growl. “Yes, that.” He muttered, fiddling with his glove. “For what reason, may I ask?”

“Because you’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you suffer like this.” And now Kurusu steps forward, red eyes gleaming from beneath the mask. “Please, listen-”

  
  


The Other Akechi throws his head back and _laughs_. 

  
  


And laughs. 

And laughs. 

And keeps on laughing. It’s a horrible sound, frankly. As if Akechi had eaten rocks for dinner, and they had stuck in his throat. The Thieves look sufficiently uncomfortable, and shift nervously, anticipating a fight.

“ _Friends_?!” The Other Akechi chuckles, wiping a mock tear from his eye. “You’re funny.”

“What are you talking about?” Okumura quietly asks, pulling her hat’s brim down.

All the humor vanishes from Other Akechi’s face as he leans forward in his chair to leer at the Thieves. “Since when have I ever been friends with _you_ , Kurusu?”

  
  


_Shit._ Akechi leans back into the shadows of the catwalk, one hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming out in both frustration and terror. _Shit fuck goddamn cocksucking FUCK!_

  
  


At the same time, all the color drains from Kurusu’s face. “You…” he stutters. 

“Oh yes, I’ve had my theory about you and your little peanut gallery being the Phantom Thieves for quite a while. You only proved it to me recently.” The grin that the Other Akechi gives is blinding, but his eyes are as cold as steel. “How long did you think you could get away with your little crusade before the law caught up with you?”

“That’s…” Kitagawa’s equally shocked - as a matter of fact, all the Thieves are in similar states of panic and confusion. “That’s why the security was so high.”

“It was a trap.” Nijima growls. 

“Not a trap, oh no, you did this to yourselves.” Other Akechi sighs, looking away. “And here I thought you acted on justice - seems like the only reason you target people is because you’ve got a vendetta. That doesn’t sound like justice to me.”

Sakamoto growls, stepping forward, but now it’s Kurusu’s turn to stop him. “How.” He says, and Akechi’s surprised at how calm he is, considering he’s been outed. “How did you find us out?”

  
  


“Well…” Other Akechi traces circles in the air, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “You could ask me.” A grin spreads across his face, and every hair on Akechi’s body stands up, telling him to run, run, get _away_ NOW. “Or…”

  
  


He snaps his fingers, and the catwalk Akechi’s standing on begins to descend. 

  
  
  


“You could ask him yourself.”

  
  


And all spotlights turn to Goro Akechi’s confused face.

  
  
  
  


* * *

Honestly, the worst part about the situation was the silence. 

  
  


The Thieves all stare dumbfounded at Akechi, while his doppleganger sits back down in his chair, seemingly content to watch. Granted, Akechi probably looks as bewildered as they are - he wasn’t expecting to be outed like this. 

  
  


“...What?” Is the only thing that comes out of someone’s mouth - Sakamoto, jaw agape. Kurusu, who seems to have recovered from his shock, straightens up.

“What are you -”

“You LIED to me!!” And all of the anger he had felt towards Kurusu and the Thieves and this stupid case comes back to him, his nails biting into his palms. Stepping forward, he advances towards Kurusu, his expression twisted into a mask of fury. 

Kurusu blinks, red eyes filled with confusion. “...What?” He echoes Sakamoto's earlier sentiment. 

“What? _What_ ?! Is that _all_ you can say?!” Akechi jabs his finger right in Kurusu’s face, standing on his toes so they’re eye to eye. “Are you _kidding_ me right now?”

“...What did I lie to you about?” Kurusu asks, still sounding obnoxiously confused.

“Um-” Akechi gestures to the giant theater room. “UM?!” And then points back to the Thieves. “MAYBE ALL OF THIS?!” 

“Technically, he didn’t lie to you.” Kitagawa pipes up. “You never asked.”

“You shut your trap, beanpole.” Akechi hisses, before turning back to Kurusu. “Do you know how much of a pain in my ass you’ve been for the past, like, sixth months?! Everyone in my goddamn department has been working their asses off to try and find you and your merry band of thieves or whatever the shit you call yourselves-”

“The Phantom Thieves,” Kurusu states flatly, expression melting back to one of forced neutral calm. 

“Yeah - whatever. I just -” And lord knows Akechi is SO tempted to just say ‘fuck it’ and throw down with this smug smirking bastard right now, but he’s unarmed, and Kurusu’s got a pistol strapped to his hip, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Scraping up his last shreds of decorum, Akechi grits out; “I have no words for how FURIOUS I am but I’m not done with you yet I just need to sit down.”

“...Holy shit Aki, I think you broke him.” Sakura stage-whispers. And Kurusu has the audacity to _snort_.

  
  


_That’s it._

  
  


Akechi grabs him by the collar, fist raised in warning. “You think this is some kind of fucking _game_ -”

  
  


They’re interrupted by laughing. 

  
  


Akechi turns towards the other him, who’s leaned back on his chair, wheezing profusely, with that same obnoxious gravely laugh from earlier. Akechi lets go of Kurusu, who turns towards the fake as well. 

“I’m sorry -” The mask is definitely a laughing one now, and the exposed side of his face is upturned in a mirthful grin as well. “It’s just - everything that’s come out of your mouth is complete shit.”

  
  


A pause. 

  
  


“ _Excuse_ me?!” Now the Thieves have backed away from the scene, and Akechi climbs onto the stage, staring face to face with his doppleganger. 

“I said what I said.” The other Akechi remarks offhandedly. “Every word that came out of your mouth was a lie.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first fucking time - who even _are_ you?!” And there’s a bit of frustration and panic seeping into his tone now, staring the other him dead in the eye. 

“You went through the other theaters, you should know who I am by now.” Other Akechi smugly remarks. 

“Other theaters?” Okumura mumbles. 

“Wait -” He turns back to the Thieves. “How _did_ you get in here anyways?”

“...We snuck through the top floors?” Takamaki remarks. 

“There’s MORE?!” And Other Akechi is laughing at him again, and he swivels around -

  
  
  


_CRACK!_

  
  
  


Other Akechi tumbles to the floor in a heap, and Akechi’s on him in an instant, fist still stinging from the initial impact. “I have had ENOUGH -” Punctuated with another punch. “Of other versions of me lecturing me on how to live MY life!” 

“Woah!” And he’s still swinging by the time someone pulls him off, Kurusu and Sakamoto holding him back from beating some sense into his doppleganger any further. “Take it easy, that’s your shadow, and we don’t know -”

“Let _go_ of me!” Akechi tries to wrench his arm away from Kurusu’s iron grasp, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see his clone - his shadow? - getting up.

“Still running from the truth, it would seem.” His shadow remarks. “And here I thought finding the truth was your job.”

“SHUT UP!” He yells back, trying to yank his arm away from Kurusu again. 

“You’re scared, right?” His shadow snipes back, teeth bared in a way that made him look even more inhuman then before. “You’re so terrified that they’ll discover that you’re weak -”

“Shut it!”

“Alone -”

“I said shut up!”

“And pathetic.” And despite the bruise on his face, his shadow smiles as if he’s won. “You couldn’t even catch the person you were most desperate to find when he was two feet in front of you.”

  
  


“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

  
  


Akechi’s voice catches in his throat, seeing Kurusu let go of him and step forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurusu starts, eyes narrowed to slits. “But we’re the ones you’re after, right? So quit harassing him.”

“Stay out of this -” But Kurusu pushes him back, and climbs onto the stage as well. 

“Help us help you.” He starts, voice softening to something almost sad sounding. “I may not know what’s going on in your head,” And he turns back to look at the real Akechi before turning back. “But I know that it doesn’t have to be like this.”

The sentiment would be almost touching if the Thieves were all shifting into battle stances behind him. 

  
  
  


“...You misunderstand.” His shadow says, and now he sounds almost sad too. “I didn’t want it to be like this either.”

“What do you mean?” Kurusu responds, taking a step closer, like how one would approach a wounded animal. 

And, much to actual Akechi’s shock and horror, his Shadow places his hand tenderly on Kurusu’s face, in almost a loving gesture.

  
  
  


“I was never the star of the show.” Shadow Akechi says sadly. “That was always you.”

  
  
  
  


And the curtains rise. 

  
  
  


Akechi’s stomach drops as he sees what’s behind. 

  
  
  
  


Eight giant, grotesque creatures leer out of the darkness, bodies writhing, twisting pools of black and red. The Thieves draw back as the things advance forward.

  
  


(It’s then Akechi notices that the monsters appear to be crude imitations of the Thieves.)

  
  


And Kurusu turns, yelling something, but it’s like he’s yelling through water, and he can’t hear over the roaring of the things -

  
  


And something hits him, and it all goes black. 

  
  


* * *

He comes to slowly, eyes bleary and world dark. When his head stops spinning, it’s then he sees he’s in the balcony of the theater, and someone’s leering over him, golden eyes staring so intently, it felt like they were boring a hole straight through his skull. 

It was his Shadow. 

  
  


Go figure. 

  
  


“Hey you. I see you’re finally awake.” His Shadow smugly says. 

“Fuck off, I haven’t even played that game.” When he sits up, his head spins, and the world around him blurs. When he blinks a few times and comes to, he notices the balcony is surrounded by glass. Below him, he can see the Thieves, still fighting the weird shadow-monster versions of themselves, although fight was a strong word. It was more like holding them back, and doing a very poor job of it too. He could see that Kitagawa was already knocked out, and Takamaki didn’t look too far off. The rest of the Thieves were in various states of disarray as well. 

  
  


Akechi stares in object horror, feeling his Shadow’s yellow eyes on him. “...I did this.” He manages to croak out, throat dry - too dry, really. “I made them come here. They’re going to die because of me.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?” His Shadow remarks. 

Akechi whirls around accusingly. “Of course not!” He snarls. “Not if they were - were my age!”

“You had your suspicions about Akira and his friends before.” His Shadow retorts. “You didn’t seem to care then.”

“I -” But there’s not much he can say to that. Looking at it now, he can see the Thieves are trying - trying _so_ damn hard and still coming up short right now. 

It was almost poignant, in a way. 

“...How do I stop this.” Akechi breathes, forehead resting against the glass.

“If they can’t, what good would an unarmed mildly feral detective be able to do?” His Shadow remarks. Akechi hisses, knowing he’s right, but not wanting to say it. “Hey.” Akechi turns, to see his Shadow patting the seat next to him. “We’re stuck up here. Why don’t you sit down.”

“Right now, of all times?”

“You’ve been ignoring every opportunity to talk about this since you got here.” His Shadow retorts. 

He does have a bit of a point.

  
  


So he sits. Watching the losing battle under him unfold like this really was a show. 

  
  


“...You really do feel bad.” His Shadow says. “About this.” 

“...No I don't’.” Akechi mumbles, but it sounds weak even to him. 

“You do.” His Shadow continues, yellow eyes fixated on something Akechi can’t see. “About your palace. And about Akira.”

“Why would I feel bad about _him_?” He snarls back, something prickly unfurling in his stomach. “He lied to me.” 

“And there you go.” His Shadow remarks, mouth upturned in a slight smile “I think, deep down, maybe you did care. That was why you never told Akira to sod off.” 

He never did, did he? At the time, he had assumed it was because he wanted to keep him close since he was a prime suspect. But all those times where they just hung out - at Leblanc, cafes, the billiards - did it mean something?

“What difference does it make if I cared?” Akechi mutters. “He obviously didn’t care anyways. I was investigating him, of course he wanted to keep a close eye on me.”

“Not everyone thinks like you.” His Shadow retorts, in a perfect imitation of his own tone when he thought about it, the night when he and Kurusu had gone to the batting cages. “And he said he wanted to help you.”

“Maybe I don’t want his help.”

“But you do. You bite the hand that feeds you, but eventually, you’ll go hungry. You already have, right?” His Shadow laughs. “All your rage, your anger - you’re directing it towards the wrong people. Maybe it’s time to be proactive for once.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He growls. 

His Shadow smiles, smirk like a knife in the dim theater’s light. “I’m saying that if you want this to stop, fix it yourself.” 

“...What?”

“All your life, you’ve been under someone’s thumb. _We’ve_ been under someone’s thumb.” He takes Akechi’s hand, gloves cold against his skin. “We have an opportunity to break free of that - the rules, the polished life we hate so much - to find our _own_ justice.”

“...Our… own justice.” It just sounded like words strung together - not making any sense to him at first. But the more it lingered, the more it began to make sense, like puzzle pieces slotting together in his mind. Like something was coming alive inside him. “To find the truth for myself.”

“Yes. And it starts-” His Shadow gestures to the glass. “By breaking the box.”

  
  
  
  


Breaking the box. 

  
  


Was this another metaphor? 

  
  


How stupid. 

“This isn’t going to solve anything.” Akechi says, standing, and picking up his chair. 

“It won’t.” His Shadow agrees sadly, holding the other side of the chair. “But if it solves one problem, then this conversation will have been worth it.”

  
  
  
  
  


“HEY UGLY!!!” 

  
  
  


The Thieves all turn at the sound of shattering glass, one of the theater chairs sailing through the glass pane and making direct contact with the biggest monster’s skull. 

  
  


Akechi leans out the broken hole in the glass, feeling a rage he hasn’t felt in a long time bubble up under his skin. “I’M TALKING TO YOU!!”

  
  


“AKECHI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Kurusu yells, blood dripping from his nose. 

  
  


“SHUT UP!!’ The theater goes dead silent. Even the monsters cease their growling. Akechi can feel his Shadow’s eyes on the back of his neck, so he begins, ignoring the shaking in his legs. “Listen up, you ugly mutts.”

  
  


The Thieves look at each other in mutual confusion.

  
  


“I’ve had a REAL rotten week.” His hisses, fists clenched so hard he can feel blood coming out from where his fingernails are digging in. “I’ve seen a guy get _shot_ , also went into someone’s brain, and, _worst of all_ , this lot turns out to be a bunch of demon summoners or some shit.” 

Sakamoto blanches. “What is he -”

“Let him finish.” The monster-cat thing interrupts.

  
  


“BUT-” He continues. “I’ll be _damned_ if my week ends with my brain committing multiple cases of manslaughter and then dying or something like that. So if you want to get to them.” And the heat under his skin reaches a boiling point, teeth gritted as hard as they can be - 

“You’re gonna have to get through me first!”

  
  


_It took you long enough._

  
  


The heat under his skin rises, a point of pain blooming from the back of his neck, spreading like fire all throughout his veins. Akechi screams (not a noise he thought he’d ever make) and stumbles back.

  
  


_You’ve realized it, right? That you’ve become sick of living under someone’s thumb._

  
  


“Hey!” But once again, the cat holds Kurusu back. “Is he -”

  
  


_It doesn’t matter right now what the world thinks of you. It’s your justice, and no one else's._

He slams back into the theater seats, clutching his head in agony, feeling like his head was splitting in two -

_And no one will **ever** take that from you again. _

  
  


And, through all the pain and fire, he grabs onto that, and doesn’t let go. 

  
  


_Rise up. Show them that the boon of a god means nothing to you, and they will fall by your blade!_

  
  
  


“Alright then.” He hisses out through gritted teeth. “Show me what you’re made of-” And he grabs onto that fire in him, and pulls - 

  
  
  


_“JANUS!!”_

  
  


And the room came _alive_.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Later, he was told that the rest of the glass had shattered around him. 

What he did remember, however, was the blood pounding in his ears, grinning in a way that was not at all sane or friendly, the polar opposite of the stupid smile he had to put on for his shows. He could feel Janus’s energy pulsing all around him, air thick and alive with only one thing: _rage._

  
  


“I told you -” He growled, stance all anger and voice all bite, “-That you’d have to get through _me_.”

  


The monster in the back - the smallest one, the cat looking one - lunges forward, but Akechi leaps off the balcony at top speed, red sword slashing across the monster's neck in the blink of an eye. Black sprays up all around him, and when he hit the ground running, he was dripping in it - some version of blood, he assumes. 

  
  


“Get up.” He hisses at the bewildered Kurusu, who’s on the floor. 

“A - Akechi -”

“I said get UP, idiot!” Hauling the teen up by his collar, he shoves Kurusu’s discarded knife back into his hand. “You’ve got an _opening_ dumbass. I’ll distract them, you heal your teammates.”

“I just -”

“Oh, I guess you just want to die?!”

“Okay, I’m going!” Kurusu races across the theater to where the cat had fallen, and Akechi turns back to the monsters, all of whom are now focused solely on him. 

**“You’re interrupting the show.** ” The biggest one - the Kurusu esque beast - growls. **“And the show** **_must_ ** **go on.”**

“Oh, save it for someone who gives a shit!” Akechi hisses, feeling the presence of Janus behind him. “I’m going to kill you, and feed you to your own audience!”

“Wow dude.” Sakamoto mumbles, getting up. “You’ve been eating red meat?”

  
  


Akechi charges. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

The rest of the battle is a blur. He knows that one by one, all the Thieves get up, joining the fight. He remembers a lot of slashing, the red velvet seats dyed black with the monster’s blood, and there _might_ have been some manic laughing from him. He got caught up in the bloodlust of the moment, sue him. 

  
  
  


But, eventually, the last of the monsters turns to dust, carcass dissolving, black blood pooling out onto the floor. The battered Thieves all heave a sigh of relief, straightening up, all looking worse for the wear. 

Takamaki starts to say something, but a loud rumble stops her. 

“We’ve got to go guys!” Sakura shouts from her UFO thing. “The Palace is collapsing!”

“You heard her, let’s go!” The Thieves all race towards the exit, Akechi, mildly confused, following behind them.

“Don’t fall behind!’ Someone yells, and Akechi speeds up -

  
  
  


-And passes someone. 

  
  


There’s something vaguely familiar about the way Haru Okumura looks at him.

  
  


_(A black ball gown, black blood of the CEO)_

  
  
  


And they continue on.

  
  
  


The theater soon turns to rubble behind them, and the world bends once more, spitting them back outside of the SIU building. Everyone collapses, bending over to catch their breath, Sakamoto going as far as to just flop over on the ground like a dead fish. 

“Is - is everyone - okay?” Niijima pants. 

“I’ve been better-” Takamaki replies, flopping down on a nearby bench. “Christ, I’ve never had to run like that before - usually we get out just before this starts!”

“I think I broke my leg,” Sakura mutters. 

“It looks fine to me.” Kitagawa replies candidly. 

  
  


Akechi doesn’t realize that it’s gone silent until he feels everyone’s eyes on him.

“...What?” He demands, feeling defensive. 

“What WAS that dude?!” Sakamoto demands, sitting up. 

“...What was what?”

“You know - all of THAT!” Sakamoto replies, looking both a mix of excited and terrified. “You went ape-shit on those guys - I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“I must confess, it was quite a spectacle.” Kitagawa admits, placing a hand on Akechi’s shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“Seriously though - that bit where you jumped down from the balcony?” Sakura snarks, crossing her arms. “I’m starting to see why your Palace was a theater.”

“Shut up.”

“So like - what kind of codename would you get?”

“I said shut it.”

“Shadow? Nah - too edgy. And kinda confusing-”

“ _Okay_ _!_ ” Everyone goes silent, and Akechi stands up, panic and confusion finally bubbling to the surface. “This has been fun - but can someone PLEASE explain what’s going on?!”

The group looks at each other.

“You wanna explain or should I?” Sakamoto asks, nudging Kurusu’s shoulder. 

“No, I will.” Kurusu rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “After everything I saw, I kiiiinda feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“...Do I want to know what else was in there?” Akechi mutters, covering his face with his hands. 

“...Uhhh…”

“Oh dude, it was so weird.” Sakamoto butts in. “I was kinda just like, ‘oh okay it’s just a normal theater’ but then there were the mask doors and the effin' PT corridor thingy and the cognitive Akira-”

“Yeah that cognitive me was pretty weird.”

“Again, do I want to know.”

“He just like -” Kurusu makes an exasperated gesture with his hands. “He just talked in riddles. We kept asking him for directions and whatever, and he could just - never give a straight answer. Oh god -” Now it was Kurusu’s turn to look embarrassed. “Is that what you think _I_ do to you all the time? Holy shit, that’s _hilarious_ -”

“Enough!” Akechi rubs his temples, a mixture of both exasperated and mortified. “Can you just - explain what’s going on?”

“Right - yeah.”

  
  
  
  


Once he’s caught up to speed on everything that’s happened so far, Akechi’s pensive, deep in thought. 

“...You okay dude?” Sakamoto asks. 

“I’m thinking.” He replies, taking a deep breath in before starting again. “This is… this is a lot.”

“Yeah.” Kurusu admits. “I know it’s a bit confusing.”

“Very.” Akechi mutters, looking down at the pavement, his shadow stretching across the pavement in the afternoon sun. 

  
  


There’s an audible pause in which the Thieves wait for a response.

  
  


“You do realize, that despite everything, I am still heading the case against you, correct.” Akechi admits, hands folded in his lap. “And even after everything today, I still have a duty to turn you in.”

“Are you for real?!” Sakamoto hisses, shooting to his feet. “After everything that’s happened today, you’re still gonna turn us in?!”

“I didn’t say that!” Akechi shoots back, louder than intended. “I just - I don’t know.” 

  
  


They sit there, silently for a second.

“I don’t know.” He repeats under his breath. 

  
  
  


Kurusu takes a deep breath, before standing up. “Look.” He starts. “This has probably been a weird day for you and I get that you’re overwhelmed, so - maybe you should head home or something.” That was true - Akechi felt like he had been run over by a bus. “Just… after everything that happened today, know that there’s a spot on the team open for you.”

“Wait, seriously-” But Kurusu holds a hand to get Sakamoto to shut up. 

“I mean it.”

  
  


Still staring at his shadow, Akechi responds with a simple; “Why?”

  
  


“I mean…” Kurusu rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “We are friends, right?”

  
  
  


The question hangs in the air, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

  
  


“...That’s up for debate.” Akechi mutters, but how red his face is gives his response away. “But I won’t turn you in. Not yet, at least.” The group exhales a sigh of relief, and Akechi stands. “I’m going home.”

“Yeah, we should all get going and get some rest.” And to Akechi’s surprise, the cat that Kurusu carried around in his bag 24/7 pokes his head out and says that, followed with a: “Sleep is very important!”

  
“That’s all you talk about, you brat cat.” Kurusu mumbles, and the cat swipes at his ear.

“The cat’s talking.” Akechi stammers out.

“Yeah yeah, get it out of your system,” The cat sasses, before turning to look at him. “Hey, I’m not a cat! I’m Morgana!”

“Well anyways,” Okumura stands, brushing the dirt off of her purple skirt. “I’m heading home.”

  
  


She gives Akechi an intense stare, as if to say: _another time._

  
  


“Yeah, maybe we should.” Akechi remarks, ignoring the pit in his stomach. 

  
  


One by one, the Thieves depart. Kurusu stands to leave, but Akechi, who was waiting for his Uber, stops him.

  
  


“Akira.”

  
  


Akira turns.

  
“...Thank you.” He mutters under his breath. 

  
  


And for once, the smile on Akira's face feels genuine. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Back at home, Akechi consults the list on the MetaNav again. Everything is mostly the same, only his name now lists: NO CANDIDATE FOUND.

  
  


“Figures.” He’s about to go to sleep, when something catches him off guard.

  
  


It’s Sae’s name.

  
  


There’s a candidate for it now.

  
  
He sits. 

Stares at it for a good minute. 

(He thinks about what Kurusu had told him. About having a place on the team.) 

(He thinks about Niijima’s face, heartbroken when she finds out what happened to her sister.)

(He could just not tell them.) 

  
  


(Or...)

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The door jingles. 

  
  
  


“Hello?” Kurusu looks up from the coffee he’s making to see Akechi standing in the door, face serious. 

  
  


“Hello Kurusu.” Akechi says, holding out the Nav, displaying Sae’s name to him. “I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  
  


Kurusu smirks. 

  
  


“Thought you’d never ask.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap for now!
> 
> I'm definitly going to continue this AU, since I want to expand Akechi, Akira, and Haru as characters. But I think I'll divide those up into shorter stories, rather then longer ones. 
> 
> Discord: https://discord.gg/7fGKDJ2
> 
> youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC1PtaW8dTzCzlDfb76VRU9Q


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